Fovever+Rember+911+(cw)


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 * R**My poem is based on the story of a survivor. My goal is to use my words to express the way he felt that day. Some of it is just me guessing how he felt, but it helps to clearly tell his story.

[|Pasquale Buzzelli]

~64 Flights From Life~

Flight 64. To some that seems high. For me, it's normal. Everything about today, normal. My wife calls, normal. She is in a panic, not normal. She is ranting on. Something about a Crash. Screaming, yelling, not thing but Chaos. I have to stay calm, relaxed. With my briefcase over my shoulder i hurry to Stairway B. My stairway towards life. So crowded, so narrow, so slow. It is smoke free, but I can hardly breathe. My heart is Racing. So many people, going so very Slow. Flight 22. Normally so low. But now? Ridiculously high. Suddenly everything shakes. Somehow above screams I hear the crashing. Crashing of walls, ceilings, everything. Everything is closing in around me in my corner. My corner of death. Everything is so close until finally, Blackness. Everything slowly slips away until I am Faling. Falling, falling, forever falling. I awake in an armchair. Thank God, it was all a dream. But when I look around my dream is a nightmare. A real life nightmare. My armchair is ruble. I'm dead. I have to be. Like a punch to the gut the pain kicks in. Pain? That means I'm not dead. Good. At least, I think so. As i look around I see a figure in the far distance. But all around me is fire. Now I panic. I can't die engulfed in flames. I can't. I won't. Have to find smoething, anything sharp. Quickly. But somehow that fire is subdued. With the help of my heros I limp away. So end my journey of life. From flight 64 all the way to Ground 0. **